


Comes With Instructions

by umadoshi (Ysabet)



Category: Newsflesh Trilogy - Mira Grant
Genre: Adopted Sibling Incest, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Makeup Sex, POV First Person, Pornday the Ninth, Pre-Canon, Teasing, Temperature Play, no series knowledge required, zombie-free
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 19:07:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17048909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ysabet/pseuds/umadoshi
Summary: Her lips immediately began purpling, like she'd smudged them with lipstick. It was more adorable than George would ever be interested in hearing--she downplays her potential for "cute" as much as humanly possible, and given the way cute girls get treated, who can blame her?--and more erotic thanIwanted to think about, since we were still fighting.Brief pre-series smut.





	Comes With Instructions

**Author's Note:**

> Un-betaed in the name of meeting the Pornday challenge deadline.

With the curtains tightly drawn, the living room was the coolest spot in the house at that time of day, and George and I took refuge there together even though we were technically fighting. She fidgeted idly at her end of the couch while she read--I could feel it through my spine while I leaned back against the couch from my seat on the floor, even though most of my attention was on my game.

She waited until a new level was loading before saying, "Shaun?"

I hit Pause. "Yeah?"

"I need something cold in my mouth. Want to split a popsicle?"

It took me half a second to process the word "cold" or her question. "Sure," I said. "Thanks."

I tossed my controller down while she went and got snacks. No point trying to play while eating something that was going to start melting before we even got started. George came back and sat on the floor too, where I could see her clearly in my peripheral vision. She snapped the grape popsicle in two, unwrapped it, and handed me half.

She slipped the tip of her half into her mouth, and sucked on it. Her lips immediately began purpling, like she'd smudged them with lipstick. It was more adorable than George would ever be interested in hearing--she downplays her potential for "cute" as much as humanly possible, and given the way cute girls get treated, who can blame her?--and more erotic than _I_ wanted to think about, since we were still fighting.

And she was totally doing it on purpose.

"That's not how you eat popsicles," I grumbled after a few minutes.

George flipped me off. "They don't come with instructions."

"Not what I meant," I said. "That's not how _you_ eat them."

She extended her tongue along the damn thing, lapping delicately at the melting runoff. We swallowed in unison, her slowly, me painfully. She didn't reply, just kept licking and sucking and swallowing, making content little noises as it cooled her down.

"Are you messing with me for a reason, or just because you can?"

"'Because I can' isn't a reason?"

"If you want me to fuck you, say so. If you don't, fuck off."

George's popsicle was almost gone. She finished it without saying another word, then leaned in close to me and sucked what was left of mine into her mouth. I laid my hand across her throat to feel her swallow.

There was still sweet purple ice on the stick when she lifted her head, so I put it back into my own mouth, breaking it loose and letting it dissolve to nothing on my tongue. Some of it had melted onto my hand. George licked my skin, slowly, making no attempt to actually get it _clean_. She was just changing the nature of the sticky-sweet mess, smearing it across her already-purple lips, and she was so close I could smell her sweat and her overheated skin, spiced with her arousal.

Then she said, "I want you to fuck me."

I got up without replying and left the room, tossing the popsicle sticks in the garbage as I went, and trusting that the house cameras were all off so they wouldn't record me walking around with a giant boner in my shorts. (Not trusting our parents to have turned them off--God, no, no matter how boring and unphotogenic we were in the heat--but George never would've started screwing around like that if she hadn't made sure while she was out of the room.)

I grabbed a couple of things and went back into the living room. George studied what I was holding and smiled as she took two pillows from the end of the couch.

One pillow went on the floor, where I draped a towel over it. George knelt on that one, leaning forward so her torso was resting on the couch cushions, arms wrapped around the second pillow. I knelt behind her and set the bowl of ice cubes on the floor beside us, fishing one cube out and putting my hand up the back of her shirt. George's whole body bowed against me when I ran the ice up along her spine, then over the rest of her back, before leaving it to melt and pool between her shoulder blades.

I pushed her shorts and underwear down and cupped a hand to her ass, stroking gently before putting both hands on the backs of her thighs, all that bare skin--thighs, ass, up on her lower back where her shirt was riding up--and rubbing my thumbs between her legs, opening her, pressing _in_.

"Shaun," she whispered, hoarse and needy.

"Thought we were fighting," I replied, massaging just inside her.

She snickered. "I'm mad at you, not your dick."

I spread her further open, still gentle, but pushing up against the limits of her comfort. "Tell me you want me to fuck you."

"I did tell you." She buried her face in the pillow, then raised her chin just far enough for me to make her out clearly. "I want you to fuck me." She laughed again. "Make me forget I'm mad at you."

"That just means you're already not mad anymore," I noted. "But you will be if I keep you hanging?"

"Maybe," she said, in a tone that meant _no_.

"Okay." I bent forward and kissed her spine through the cold damp patch spreading on the back of her shirt. She was shivering from the ice, the downy hair on her arms prickling with goosebumps. The only part of her that was hot now was her cunt, and I was getting frantic to warm it up even more.

I eased my cock into her, in and in and in, and then put my hands on her shoulders to brace us. I pulled almost all the way back out.

And then I fucked her, startling a little cry out of her with the first thrust--not protest, just surprise, just _want_ , because George is fucking _greedy_ about sex, which is one of the things that turns me on most about her.

We went at it quick and hard for a couple of minutes, until I was right on the teetering edge of orgasm--so close my throat ached. We were both plenty sticky already, even without me coming inside her, and she was heating back up as the ice finished melting into a cool wet spot between her shoulder blades. I was dizzy from both the stifling heat of the room and the wonderful heat of her body around my cock, not to mention from wanting to come--and then I was distracted by the urge to get my tongue inside her. I itched to lick the sweat off her thighs, fill my mouth with the sharp bite of her wetness and my own precome.

Pulling out, I shifted my grip on her hips and flipped her over so she was sitting on the towel and I was kneeling between her spread thighs. She wriggled completely out of her shorts and underwear, but she read my intentions and shook her head when I went to hoist her up onto the couch.

Instead, she tugged me close and into a deep kiss, sliding her tongue into my mouth and licking lightly all around. I groaned back into her mouth, and she laughed, reaching down to wrap a hand around my cock. "I'm not in the mood for oral," she said, each word dissolving on my lips. Her fingers tightened and made me see stars. "I'm taking over, okay?"

"Okay," I said, curious.

George grabbed the spare pillow off the couch, tucking it under the unoccupied half of the towel on the floor. "Sit."

I sat.

She leaned over me, one hand back on my cock while the other dipped briefly into the melting bowl of ice. I glanced down between our bodies and then couldn't look away; she was putting her water-chilled fingers between her legs, getting herself off with impressive speed.

"Here," she gasped, as she started coming down. She pushed a pair of fingers all the way inside herself, withdrew them slick and wetter than when they'd gone in, and offered them to me.

I slumped against her, opening my mouth. She laid those wet fingers on my tongue, squeezing my cock rhythmically, and my brain shut down without a whimper of protest or hesitation, blissfully happy to do what she wanted. "Good," she murmured, possessive and coaxing, while I sucked her fingers and fucked roughly into her hand.

She kept whispering the sweetest, most graphic stuff to me for the few drawn-out heartbeats I was able to hold off. I kept thrusting and tasting while she held me, and then I came all over her bare skin and the hem of her shirt, the shirt that was already damp from her sweat and my sweat and melted ice.

I reached over and pushed my own fingers up into her, fucked her with them in time to the aftershocks of pleasure ripping through me. She arched encouragingly on my hand, so I focused as hard as I could on fingering her while my brain and body both tried to slide into a full-on post-orgasm stupor.

"Come for me," I said, too strung out on my own brain chemistry to care how cheesy and clichéd the demand was. "Show me, George."

George laughed out loud--and I couldn't blame her--but I'm as good at manipulating her body and hormones as she is at playing with mine. So she did come "for me", soft, shivery convulsions all over my fingers while she kept laughing.

We settled into a tangle of limbs and mess and bliss, not fighting anymore, just _being_ , the way we don't get to be very often. I could've stayed like that for ages, with the heat and George's presence keeping my brain quiet.

She spoke up first. "I'm too hot again." There only a trace of apology in her tone, and none in her smile as she added, "Want to split another popsicle?"


End file.
